bad dreams and strawberry swings
by ohthelinsanity
Summary: Marco always said Jean was fit to be a leader. But sometimes being a leader isn't top skills and thick skin. Sometimes being the toughest means being the softest. And with his friends waking up in the middle of the night screaming, Jean learns that.


_summary_: Marco always said he was fit to be a leader. But sometimes being a leader isn't top skills and thick skin. Sometimes being the toughest means being the softest. Jean learns that.

_notes_: aka, Jean being Team Mom

_bad dreams and strawberry swings_

Jean was halfway asleep when he felt an incessant tug on his blanket. He tried to ignore it in hopes of getting some sleep, but whoever was tugging was determined to get his attention. Blinking slowly, he rolled around and saw Sasha at his bedside, her blanket wrapped around her like a cape. "What's up?" he asked sleepily, the words heavy on his tongue.

Sasha opened and closed her mouth half a dozen times, but she couldn't get the words out. The entirety of her wiry frame shook, and it wasn't a chill. Her eyes were round and shining with fear, her face slick with sweat, and her cheeks bore remnants of frightened tears. "I—" her voice broke on the very word, a crack of thunder before the storm.

"Come on, none of that," he said, trying to be gentle, his voice still laced with sleep. Scooting to the far side of his bed, he pulled back his blanket and pulled her in beside him. She started hiccupping and sniffling, and he feared she was melting into bout hysteria. "Don't go waking everyone up." He tucked her head beneath his chin and patted her back gently. "Sshh, calm down, you're fine." Jean mumbled. He desperately tried to stay awake, but his aching body was dragging him to sleep, even with Sasha's whimpering in his ears. He held her tighter. "We've made it this far, right? We're the best of the best. We'll live. Go…" a yawn. "… To sleep."

Slowly, her breathing leveled and her tears stopped. "Thanks, Jean," she breathed before she finally started to drift to sleep.

Jean hummed in response. "We'll be fine," he repeated once more before the two of them fell asleep.

.

.

It was well into the night when he woke to the sounds of someone retching down the hall.

Jean tried to ignore it. He wound his blanket tight around the sides of his head and stuffed his face underneath his pillow, but minutes later he heard it again. With a sigh, he sat up slowly and looked around the room. Everyone was in their cots save for Armin. Wincing at the cold that shot up his feet when he stepped on the cool wooden floor, Jean trudged down the hall, blanket in hand, towards the kitchen, where he spotted Armin in the corner, bucket in hand, throwing up the rest of his dinner.

"Hey," Jean yawned, and lazily covered Armin's shoulders with the blanket. He noticed a cleaning rag on the edge of the counter and grabbed it before coming back over and dangling it in front of Armin's face. "Okay?"

It was his way of asking Armin if he was done with his vomiting spell. "I think so," he mumbled as he took the rag from Jean. He tried to wipe his mouth discreetly. "Sorry, this is really gross."

Jean shrugged. "Don't worry about it." He told him. With another yawn, Jean settled beside Armin. As it turned out, Armin wasn't quite done, and seconds later he abruptly grabbed the bucket. Sighing, Jean tugged the stray blonde hairs out of his face. "Wanna talk about it?" Jean asked.

Reaching for the rag, he wiped his mouth clean again. "Not really, "Armin admitted. "It's nothing new. Same dreams. It just…doesn't get any easier."

"I don't think it's supposed to." Jean told him. He reached out for the bucket and got to his feet. "Go back to bed. I'll clean this up."

Armin pulled a face. "You don't have to do that," he said, reaching for the bucket, but Jean tugged it back.

"Don't argue. You've been doing this three nights in a row. Go to sleep."

Bright red crawled up on Armin's face instantly. "I can't," he mumbled. "I couldn't quite get a bucket in time."

The realization hit. "Go grab your sheets, then." Jean told him. Minutes later when Armin came back with his sheets, Jean had already gone outside and gotten a pail of water to do the wash. The two sat in silence as they both did the laundry, trying their best to do it in the moonlight that spilled in from the kitchen window. As Jean hung the last of it to dry, he cocked his head down the hall. "You can sleep in my bed for the rest of the night."

"Oh, no, I can't—"

"I'm the only one who doesn't have morning duties," Jean shrugged. "I can nap once you wake up. Go ahead."

Armin smiled softly. "Thanks, Jean."

Krista found him at the crack of dawn in the kitchen beside a clean bucket, slumped and asleep against the wall.

.

.

Jean woke with a start when he heard terrified screams from the room over. Mikasa stood over his bed. "It's Connie," was all she said before Jean leapt out of bed and darted to the other room.

He found Krista and Sasha holding him down by his arms, trying to calm him down. "Nightmares," Sasha whimpered. "I can't get him to wake up."

Jean pushed aside the lingering Armin and Eren aside before he crawled up on Connie's bed, straddled his waist, and slapped him hard across the face.

Connie's eyes snapped open, but he didn't stop screaming. He started yelling things that no one could quite catch, but Jean heard mentions of his family, mentions of his friends, mentions of titans, the words like they were spilled blood themselves.

"Snap out of it!" Jean barked. "It was a bad dream, Connie! It's just a dream! Look around, we're all fine!"

Slowly, the thrashing lessened and Jean got close enough to pin Connie down by the shoulders. He looked him in the eye. "No one's dying," Jean said, this time calmly. "Everyone's okay."

"S-Sasha?" Conne whimpered.

"I'm right here," she said, gripping his hand so tightly her knuckles bled white. "I'm fine. Jean's right, we're all fine."

"A dream," Connie reiterated.

Slowly, Jean got off of Connie's cot. He turned around to find Armin, Eren, and Mikasa looking relatively relieved. "We should go back to sleep," Jean told everyone. "Before the captain wakes up."

"Too late," Levi said evenly as he passed the open doorway to the kitchen. Half of them visibly winced, feeling guilty.

"Sorry," Eren apologized on all their behalf. "Connie had a nightmare and—"

They heard rattling of cups as Levi started making tea. "I'm aware. Just go to sleep."

They tried.

Eren woke up screaming next.

.

.

"What's eating you?"

Jean watched, half amused as Mikasa stopped her pacing about in the kitchen. "Nothing," she answered quickly, going over to the counter to put away the clean dishes, if only to make herself look busy.

Jean walked over and hopped on a clean edge of the counter. "You like doing dishes in the middle of the night?"

Her finger traced a large crack in a tea cup Eren had cracked the other day. "I couldn't sleep," she admitted, too tired to try and cover it up.

"What a coincidence," he said, hopping off the counter. "Neither could I."

"I'm beginning to think you never do."

He walked past her to grab an apple, bonking the top of her head lightly in the process. "I could thank your noisy feet for that." She didn't appear guilty. "Come on," he said, reaching out for her wrist. She retracted from his touch. He rolled his eyes, but smiled. "Let's go sit on the porch."

She eyed him curiously. "Why?"

"That way no one will hear me talk your ear off."

Mikasa snorted. "Why would I want to sit through that?"

"You want to sleep, don't you?"

She gave a breathy laugh, one so quiet Jean had to strain to hear it. "Alright," she agreed, snagging the apple from his hands. "But this is mine," she told him, taking a bite.

The two of them headed out to the back porch. "Hey!" he whispered loudly, snagging the apple back. "You gotta share." He told her, taking a bite himself, before offering it back to her.

"Keep it." She said,

"I don't have cooties, promise."

As they settled onto the back porch, Mikasa ended up taking the apple again. "So what's the story this time?"

"Well," he drawled, looking up to find a new moon. "Maybe this time you could tell a story? Talk my ear off for a change?"

Abruptly, the apple was shoved into his hands. "I don't think that's a good idea," she answered a little roughly.

"Okay, okay," he offered quickly, hoping she wouldn't get up and leave to return to pacing. "That's fine. I've got plenty of stories. Did I ever tell you the time I kicked Eren's ass and—"

"_Jean." _Mikasa interrupted. "That was a _dream. _And you've told me it at least three times."

He laughed in response. "Just checking if you were paying attention is all. Okay, let me bring you back a few years. I was seven years old, I'd just broken my wrist, and I had stumbled upon the biggest patch of wild strawberries I'd ever seen—"

"Strawberries?" Mikasa whispered, looking at him intently. "You had strawberries?"

"Yeah," he smiled gently. "Here and there. You like strawberries?" She nodded. "I like them ripe, really ripe, you know? Almost rotten I suppose. They just taste so-"

"—sweet." Mikasa finished. "They're sweet."

He flashed her a grin. "Yeah. I could almost taste them now. Oh man what a day that was. Best summer of my life, I can tell you that. Spent the whole time with strawberries in my teeth…"

Ten minutes into it, he felt something knock against his shoulder. He stopped and looked over to find Mikasa slumped in sleep, her head resting against his shoulder. He craned his next and saw that for the first time, she had fallen asleep with a smile on her face.

Careful not to jostle her too much, he managed to collect her in his arms and head back inside to put her back in her bed. "Strawberries, huh…"

.

.

Some nights weren't so bad though. Some nights were quiet and long, and they all slept through the night. No one cried, no one screamed, no one got sick; no one stayed up all night worried. So no, It wasn't all bad, not always.

Sometimes he woke up and ate strawberries for breakfast.


End file.
